My Mistakes
by sausuge
Summary: JD's life has taken a sudden turn for the worst, and when a horrible accident happens, will he ever be able to fix things between him and his friends, or will it all be too little, too late? [officially JDA! nonslash]
1. Prologue: Coming to Terms

Okay: who else is pissed at JD's "Friends"? I can't believe them! Turk, Elliot, and Carla didn't even bother to comfort or help JD. and TURK? oh Turk! You are SO on my shit list! grr... and Dr. Cox?? where the F. is his "tough love" speech for poor, suffering, miserable, pathetic JD?!? I mean seriously! He's so stressed he actually snapped at the Janitor! What hell is with you people?!?! ...And so, because of this, I'm writing a JD moping session i think he should have... would this be considered JDA?

PS: Dr Cox has magical hair...

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**-Prologue: Coming to Terms-**

It's hard to believe… that my best friend- the man I have seen as my brother for 9 years of my life- would betray me, and then lie about it for so long.

Him and Stacy: it wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't lied about it for so long. Almost 7 years now he's lied to me… don't get me wrong, I was pretty sure about it, it's just that… well, I don't know… I think I had convinced myself Turk was some kind of hero… I guess…

I convinced my self Turk wouldn't do that to me- wouldn't hurt me like that- not this brother. But… it was all frighteningly similar to my junior year in high school, where my wonderful older brother slept with my girlfriend… twice. But… I wasn't angry… not at Dan at least… I was angry… at myself… for not being angry with them… for forgiving them…

I took her to prom the next year.

She left with my brother.

But I still wasn't made at them… and now… I'm not mad at Turk… and I'm not mad at Stacy either… mostly because that'd pointless since she's dead (and my mom taught me to never speak ill of the dead… then again, she also taught me to share…). But… I'm angry at myself… again…

So… this hasn't exactly been my best year, has it? First my girlfriend gets prego before we even have 'relations', then after I actually started to look forward to It, It-

… I'm pathetic…

Should I already have gotten over It? Should I have moved on already? How does this stuff work? …On the outside… well, people think I'm okay… that I'm dealing with this… that I'll get through it. But on the inside- well, I just hope they're right…

…I… didn't love Kim. So… that didn't really hurt much… and I hadn't gotten to know… It, so I… didn't necessarily "miss" It… and I'm not depressed about It… I'm just… disappointed I guess…

But… it was stressful… and obviously, I don't deal well with stress (I still pass out when I poo…). And well… with my new "Independent Streak", I can't go to my friends for help… that'd be wrong… to put more stress on them, just because I'm in trouble… then again… I always thought that was what friends were for… to help you… then… maybe I don't have friends.

My hero worship… Turk. Turk has always been kind of a hero, or a role model… I always wished… I could be as… cool, and…self-confidant as him. …at least, I DID… but now? I don't know…

With this knowledge-the fact that someone I trusted with my life, and my secrets, and everything I hold inside myself- has betrayed me… it makes me reconsider things…

If I could be so wrong about Turk… one of my all time hero's…

Could I be wrong about others…?

_**

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** _

So, what do ya think? ...hmm... i want to put another part up, but i'm not sure... maybe i should leave it like this?... well, for now, i'll leave it at 'complete', and if i get enough reviews asking me to continue, i will...

until then: thank you for reading, and i don't own scrubs or the characters :P


	2. I: Your Fault

Okay, so I brain stormed, and decided on a general plan for this story, so it will be continued. (I know: hallelujah! lol…) but, keep in mind that I'm lazy, and a master of procrastination so if you guys want this to go places, please keep the reviews coming to keep me in check, okay? ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs… that belongs to greater people…

* * *

**-Chapter 1: Your Fault-**

It's getting cold. _Really _cold.

But I'm not exactly in the mood to get down from here, so I just pull my long-sleeved under shirt farther down to cover my freezing fingers.

It's one of the coldest days so far this winter… what are the chances, huh? I come out here to think, and it just happens to be freezing. Life really is out to get me lately.

Who am I kidding? I've got a great job (even if it is stressful, depressing, dangerous, and takes up literally all of my social-life), great friends (who hate me, betray me, ignore me, and think of me as a burden), and a loving family (a dead dad, a mom who never really cared much, a flaky brother, and a racist grandma.). Yeah. Life's good… To every one but me.

But hell, right now I've got: me, my iPod, Cher, the quiet roof, and the cold. And really, I think that's all I need right now. Anything else and I think I'd go into overdrive. I might just… stop.

Friends right now are a lost concept on me. To have someone that would care for me unconditionally, and not judge me, hide secrets from me, or make fun of me? Wow. That would be just great.

But right now, I don't have anyone like that, do I?

No…

The wind blows some more. It's getting colder… the clouds, darker. It looks like it'll rain… it hasn't rained here in a long time. Is that supposed to be a sign? Am I supposed to cry? …I haven't cried in a long time either… but somehow, I don't feel like crying… I feel like yelling… I feel like punching someone. I feel like letting my anger out…

But that's a useless concept to linger on, because I know I never will. It's not how I deal with things. I bottle them up inside, until I find someone, then I pop the lid, and spew it all over them in a whiney, child-like way. But… now I can't do that. So… I guess I'll just bottle it up… and forget it.

It's really all I can do.

…

I should go. My shift ended a while ago, and it's really cold. I'll be lucky not to get frostbite.

…but… I still can't manage to leave. My legs just won't pull themselves back over the ledge and hold me up. (Not like they ever did that before. I usually had to tell them to do it…. Maybe I should try that approach?)

But… I don't really want to go… I keep thinking one of _them _will get worried, or feel guilty, and one of _them_ will come looking for me, and I won't be here, so they'll think I'm okay, and they'll _leave_.

And even through all of this, I still can't stand the thought of them leaving…

I can hear someone open the door to the roof. I can hear them hesitate… they sigh… it sounds like they're turning around… good, I don't really want some orderly smoking next to me right now. And I'm not in the mood for small talk with some nurse… and I don't feel I'm the right person to stop Ted from killing himself right now…

But… they're coming this way. I can hear the roof's pebble-covered asphalt crunching beneath shoes. The rustle of a coat tells me that it's a doctor. Great. I can only hope it's Colonel Doctor… I don't think he can speak English…

"Geez Bethany, are you _trying_ to freeze to death, or were you hoping to see prince charming walking by, and were hoping he would think you were a damsel in distress, and try to save you?"

Dang it. Really, what are the chances??? What is he doing up here? He has absolutely no reason to be here!

"What are you doing up here, Dr. Cox?" I can barley manage to conceal the impatience and irritation in my voice. I try to cover it with a tired curiosity.

"Carla saw your car in the parking lot, and she got worried. She was leaving, so she pestered me in to finding your sorry ass." It was pretty cold this morning, so I had decided to borrow my neighbor's car to get to work. Ms. Dent is an 80-something-year-old widow with Alzheimer's, so I doubt she'll remember having the old Honda, let alone letting me borrow it. It can be a few hours late.

"And really Newbie, I have neither the time nor patience to let you cry on my shoulder while you tell me about your "guy-problems", so how about we don't, and say we did, mmm'kay?"

That wasn't exactly the meanest thing he'd ever said to me, but for some reason it... it's just really pissing me off…

Suddenly, my legs do as they are told, and I find my self swinging around to face him. My feet land smoothly, and pull my weight up so I'm standing, all in one graceful, fluid movement. I take three steps, and I'm suddenly very close to his face. I don't know where I'm getting this sudden burst of bravery, but hell, I'll run with it…

"…you know what? Okay." I know, not exactly the most intimidating thing ever, but I'm just getting started: "You go ahead. Make fun of me for needing help. Tease me because I needed someone- _anyone_- to give me a pep-talk, or a pat on the back. GO AHEAD! But you know what? When one day, you turn around, and JD, or Bambie, or Vanilla-Bear, or _Julie_ isn't there??! You can just go ahead, and blame yourselves for it!! When one day, you need _me, _and _I'm_ not there??! **THAT'S _YOUR_ FAULT!**"

I stand there only a second more to gauge his reaction. _He looks surprised,_ I note as I storm away, mindful to accentuate the fact that I want as far away as I can get by completely avoiding contact. _Probably more from the volume than the actual words_…

After all, why would he care if I wasn't there?

* * *

That, folks, is what I call foreshadowing. Lol. If any of you can guess what I have in store for JD, I'll… well… mention you in the author's note of the next chapter… I know, exciting, huh? 

I'll give you a hint: what causes it was mentioned in this chapter.

Also, I gave a shout out to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in here, so see if you can spot that…

LET THE GAMES BEGIN!!! BUAHAHA!

(Review please… :D)


	3. II: I Shouldn't Be Alive

Author's note: I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed! If I didn't respond to you, I'm very sorry, but I probably just forgot to, no personal offense or anything… I'm just forgetful. :D

On another note: one reviewer mentioned that I use ellipses ('…') a lot. And that's true, but this story is meant to be in JD's mind and in his mind, he pauses a lot, to think. I don't know about you , but I'm silent a lot in my mind. (Is that a bad thing??) But, thank you a lot to that reviewer, for the tips, and I did try to cut back on them this chapter.

Also, it would seem that no one reviewer got both things right, but IrishHatdance13 got the Hitchhiker's Guide reference (I love the book): Ms. Dent, and PaulMcCartney1 got the other one, which is: …well, you'll just have to see this chapter won't you?? ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs, or for that matter any other publicly recognizable thing mentioned in this chapter (although, I do love all of them…)

Oh, also, a warning: **there is some graphic material in this chapter. **Could be gruesome if you have a really awesome imagination.

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**-Chapter 2: I Shouldn't Be Alive-**

I didn't pass anyone on my way out of the hospital (besides Colonel Doctor. Oh, and it turns out he knows my name, I should learn his name…) so I got out without any hassle.

The temperature, coming from inside the hospital to outside, plummeted considerably. I shivered, and quickened my pace. The sooner I got to Ms. Dent's car, the sooner I got home to a nice cup of hot cocoa, and a _Sanford and Son_ marathon.

Except that, I don't have any appliances yet, like a TV or a microwave, (I've been living on Wendy's and hospital coffee… not a very good diet, I have to say…) and even if I did, I apparently don't have electricity yet. Which also means, I'm going home to a heater-less, empty apartment.

Great.

I finally reach the old rust-colored, box-shaped Honda, and pull out the keys. It doesn't have an alarm, or automatic locks, or anything like that. Apparently Ms. Dent is very trusting. (That or she just doesn't care if the crappy old thing gets stolen.) It takes me a minute to jam the keys in the stupid lock, jiggle it a little, and finally manage to turn the key the right way, before the door becomes unlocked. By then, I'm passed shivering, and probably already hypothermic or something, it's just my luck that the door sticks.

It takes me another two minutes to wiggle (more like pound) the door open, and fall into the uncomfortably small space that is the inside of the car. I close the door (with much more ease then I had getting it open) and turn the car on, immediately turning on the heater.

Except it won't turn on. It just sputters and dies.

_The car is old. It takes along time to heat up. That's all_, is what I keep telling myself. But, after ten minutes, I figure I'll be warmer once I start driving.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was my first mistake.

I'm only about a block from the hospital, when my stomach starts growling. I decide that I'll stop at the Wendy's not far from here.

That was my second mistake.

It's a pretty new place, built only a few months ago, but either people don't know it's here yet, or people just really don't want to go there.

I am the only person who goes there. And I'm not exaggerating. After two days, the drive-thru woman (and the counter man) knew my full name (how? I still don't know), order, where I work, and most of my personal issues. (Hey, when you're lonely, you'll go to anyone.)

Anyways, it was pretty barren over there. That's the only thing over there beside the 91 freeway. That's actually the only way to get there. It's built in front of a large ravine… a very creepy ravine.

But, I go there to think, so off I went.

I have to admit, I might not have been obeying EVERY traffic law, (I mean really: who puts their hands at ten and two? How uncomfortable.) but it's not like I was driving with my big-toe, while reading, and texting, and playing a Gameboy, and trying to figure out a Sudoku puzzle. I was as focused on the practically empty 91 freeway as anyone can be expected to be at eight o'clock, after a fifteen hour shift, without anybody else there.

Unfortunately, there was someone there.

The freeway was placed on the stretch of land almost right next to the ravine. For some reason, they failed to put up any railing in the few feet between the freeways asphalt, and the practically bottom-less ravine. I was in the particular lane (so I could take the exit out to the delicious Wendy's) next to the ravine.

That would be my third mistake.

The next thing I know, there are head light's shining in my eyes. The head-lights, unfortunately, are not shining in on me from the rear-view window, as I would like to hope.

What someone was doing going the wrong way on a freeway, I probably will never know- not that it really matters, that is.

At the time, I didn't really feel like playing chicken, but, my mind didn't realize that right, is not always right.

I pulled the wheel sharply to the right.

That would be my final mistake.

I plow through those very few feet that separate me and the ravine in a matter of seconds, and soon find that the car is no longer plowing through anything but air.

As I watch the what little ground I could see- the ground illuminated by the two different colored and dull head-light's of the Honda- for some reason, no deep, romantic, or epiphacal thoughts ran through my mind.

The only thing I could think was:

Thank god Ms. Dent has Alzheimer's.

**_

* * *

_**

_Everyone's told you over and over again_

_You're making the biggest mistake of your life_

_Everyone's told you_

_Everyone you left behind_

_You're making the biggest mistake of your life_

_You've made the biggest mistake of your life…_

Waking up has never been one of my favorite things- what with the morning breath, bed head, and other assortments of problems.

Waking up at the bottom of a ravine, in a cold Honda, which is currently lying on its side, isn't any better.

The first thing I noticed was that the radio was on- Before, I couldn't get it to turn on for the life of me- and the song that was playing did not lose its irony on me.

The second thing I noticed was the stabbing pain everywhere I could possible imagine.

The pain was horrible.

So I screamed.

The scream- after a few minutes- faded into a horrible sob, wracked with just about as much pain as I could transfer in to the scream.

I heard it echo back at me- the scream, that is- the only other thing it could reach besides the walls of the ravine.

I whimpered for a few minutes, allowing myself some time before I figured out WHAT THE HELL HURT SO MUCH.

I allowed two minutes –and two minutes only- to whimper in my pain. After, I composed myself, and took the plunge.

Am I allowed to add one more mistake to that list?

Looking down, I almost threw up. Not that it would do me any good.

The ravine, it would seem, is not completely devoid of water. (is it still a ravine then?) A small trickle seems to be running through it. It would also seem that the car landed in it. And my face/abdomen had also landed in the freezing water. So, that led me to believe that throwing up, would only make it literally come back at me.

But, I suppose that is beside the point, for now, anyways.

I looked down at myself, and saw one of the most disgusting things I've probably ever seen. And I'm a doctor.

I couldn't stand to look at it, but I had to. I became clinically detached. I acted as if it was anyone else but me. (And right now there are a lot of people I would like to see this happen to.)

Let's start with the least disgusting:

Definitely some bruised ribs- some pretty harsh black and blues were showing from where the fall had caused gravity to pull up my shirt.

From the sharp shooting pains in my skull, the vertigo, and nausea, I was pretty sure I had a concussion. (Though I wasn't sure if the nausea was because of the concussion or my physical state)

Now on to more disgusting:

It looks like the Honda's windshield broke when I hit the ground. Not that I could tell in the dark- oh no. I could only tell because of the three (rather large) shards of glass sticking out of me. One in my stomach, one in my leg (how did that happen?), and one in my right arm. (The left was glass-less)

Speaking of my left arm, it would seem that something was coming out of it, that wasn't supposed to be. I tried to move to get a better view, but a pain shot through me.

…

For a few seconds, I don't know what happened. I think I might have blacked out. But, when I woke, I could see my arm. Unfortunately.

The ulna was protruded harshly from my forearm. _A compound fracture_. _It could get infected,_ my mind says somewhere. But I was too busy looking at the left side of my body, which I could now partially see, thanks to my movement.

My arm wasn't the only thing with a compound fracture. One of my ribs (the fifth one?) was sticking out threateningly at me.

_Well, that's not supposed to happen._

Duh.

But, my clinical mind forces me to move on. I look down farther. I think my right leg (the one with the glass in it) is dislocated. I look at my left leg. Nothing seems to be wrong.

I dare to move it- just slightly. Nothing hurts, except for a small twinge in my ribs.

Huh. Looks like I made it out with one part of me still intact.

I manage to smile in triumph, (which helped me notice that I have a cracked lip, and a broken cheek bone) when I notice something.

It looks kinda white-ish outside.

It takes me a full two minutes to know why:

It was snowing.

_Damn._

My smile faded, and I can't seem to concentrate for a while. Then I hear the radio:

_Baby its cold outside_

_Brr its cold…._

_It's cold out there_

Stupid radio.

I shiver, and pain shots through me. I barley manage to suppress a scream. Not that it matters, no one can hear me.

I'm alone…

Instead of concentrating on the pain, I try to think of something else.

No- not how to get out, or any other master plan, I'm sorry to say. I think about what will happen if I survive this.

I mean, I don't exactly think I'll be making an appearance on _I Shouldn't Be Alive_.

I'm stuck in a stupid ravine, on a cold night, without a stupid heater, next to a Wendy's. I doubt I'll get a story written about me, let alone make an appearance right after the guy who gets his armed ripped off by an alligator, then sleeps with a pride of lions in the African savannah. But it is getting pretty cold. Maybe if I lose a few fingers to frostbite, they'll let me have my own episode…

But my thoughts don't stray there for long. They don't stray there for long because they are interrupted….

By my cell phone ringing.

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R&R please :) 


	4. III: Can You Hear Me Now?

Author's note: I'm so sorry! Can't believe it took me a month to update this story. I've been extremely busy and (insert excuse here). Anyways, thank you all for your reviews. It looks like the Scrubs category is where the money's at. ;) Again, thanks for the review, and sorry if I didn't reply to you. I probably forgot.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything mentioned in this chapter (slogans, shows, food, whatever) I also don't own Scrubs.

Also: **This chapter has some pretty gnarly words in it. **The F word and S word are used often, so if this offends you, don't read… I was thinking maybe I should change the rating. You guys think so? Drop a review with your suggestions for the rating please.

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**-Chapter 3: Can You Hear Me Now?-**

But my thoughts don't stray there for long. They don't stray there for long because they are interrupted….

By my cell phone ringing.

The jovial sound of the standard ring tone set to my phone almost makes me cry. My phone; my wonderful, beautiful, reaching-people-outside-of-this-damn-car capable phone! Why hadn't I thought of it earlier? Sure, I had been unconscious, screaming in agony, and then unconscious again, but really, somewhere in my busy schedule I should have stuck "call for help so you don't freeze to death, you moron" in there!

Beside the point JD, beside the point! Find your goddamn phone! Okay, calm down. Where did you put?

I remember fighting my way in to the car, and waiting for it to heat up, but where was my phone? It wasn't in my backpack, and I know it's not in my pocket… so where is it?

…I threw it in the passenger's seat. So… where is it now?

Shit JD, quick, the stupid song is ending!

Giving up on the 'think about it' route, I search wildly around, moving from side to side, as much as possible in my condition. I try to follow where I hear the sound…

The car landed on its side, in afore mentioned trickle, and from my position, I can't see much but the white ground outside.

But, that's all I need to see. There, maybe a few feet outside the windshield is my phone. Unfortunately, "a few feet outside the windshield" is just "a few feet outside the windshield" too far for me to reach.

I'm screwed.

I can't reach up to scratch my nose, let alone drag my self out into the snow, and take a fucking nature hike to my phone. Shit, shit, shit.

What the hell do I do?

* * *

…It stopped. The ringing stopped. It's been two hours. They didn't stop calling for the first hour. It must have been someone I know (its times like these I wish I had set custom ring tones.). Maybe it was Carla… or maybe it was…

No. It wasn't him. He wouldn't call. After all, "why would he care if I wasn't there?" right JD?

…_Shut up, me._

The second hour I fell asleep. I know I shouldn't have, considering I'm pretty sure I have a concussion, but hell, I'm tired. I don't know when they gave up, but they did. I'm sure they think I'm just sleeping through it or something. (Which, technically, I was.)

…I wonder if they'll miss me. Lately they've been acting like they wouldn't. I just feel betrayed. With Turk, and well, just everything.

I try to sigh, but my broken rib protests the action. I'm pretty sure I screamed. Hell, it's hard to breathe now. Shit- hope I didn't puncture my lung… that would suck…

After a few minutes, the pain subsides, and I can breathe normally again. (Well, quasi-normally, considering the situation.)

After a few minutes, I realize I'm shivering. Why did I only wear a stupid long-sleeve shirt? It was cold today, you idiot! What is wrong with me? If I live, I am wearing a double layered fleece trench coat every single day… even in the summer!

Shit… the water can't be helping. One third of my body (including my head) is fucking swimming in it, and bits and pieces of snow keep tumbling in with it. I start to think about hyperthermia. I'm definitely gettin' me some a that. Oh yeah, not to mention frostbite, torpor, and the really bad form of hibernation.

FUC-…

_**

* * *

**_…I have to get out of here. I'm losing too much blood. The small trickle that is gracing me with its presence has turned a morbid red. At first I didn't know why. I think that's more proof as to my condition. But I can't move. The left leg (the only none-injured appendage I still have) is pinned beneath the other leg. Besides, the pain it would cause everywhere else would be unbearable. 

But, then again, death would probably be worse.

Deciding on going for the phone, I start to move. I take the right arm (the one with the glass buddy) and move around my abdomen, to rest it on the ground. The pain is bad, but I manage to fight through it with a few grunts and gasps.

I put all my weight on my arm, and push up. The trickle runs over my hand, and washes away the blood that had been covering it. I try to focus on the small designs the blood makes in the running water, instead of how I might have been wrong about the whole death thing.

The pain is EXCRUCIATING. My ribs groan and plead with me to stop moving, while my arm and leg demand it. I manage to sit up on my left hip. It's awkward because I'm sitting on the door, but the pain of the handle in my bum is nothing compared to everything else.

My right arm is screaming, but it holds up the weight I am putting on it. I sit for a minute, and catch my breath. Then I look up.

My phone sits mere feet from me, looking at me, glaring at me, mocking me.

Oh yeah? Well, FUCK you phone.

…blood loss is a bitch. I really have to get out of here. I hold my breath as I take my right arm, and reach out, resting it on the snow ridden ground. It sinks an inch, but the temperature does nothing to me.

I make a fist in it, and drag myself forward. It HURTS. I lift my right leg, making sure to avoid hitting the glass that is currently becoming buddies with my thigh muscle, and the dislocated femur. My left arm rests lightly in the snow, and doesn't cease to make me want to cry. I rest my right leg lightly, and prepare myself.

To pull my healthy left leg over, I have to put weight in the right one.

I slowly start to put pressure on the leg, before-

_**

* * *

**_Shit. I was unconscious again, wasn't I? Damn it. This can't be good for me, really. 

But I'm awake now, and I'm ready to go, damn it.

Only a few more feet, and I can reach the conniving phone.

I do a pathetic imitation of an army crawl, putting my weight on my right arm, and left leg. And soon, (okay, fifteen minutes or so) I reach my phone.

I reach out with my right arm, the rest of my body flopped onto the snowy ground. I grab it, and pull it to my face.

I start to thank any and all great deity's I can think of, while flipping the phone open.

…but nothing happens.

No lights come on, no message that says: '_40 missed calls, you douche'_, not even a picture of the little orange Cingular guy (which is my standard background, even though I have a Verizon phone).

And it takes me a few minutes to realize why:

My phone is dead.

* * *

JD passes out alot in this chapter, huh? Sleepy boy... :) 

R&R please. (P.S.: don't forget to mention a rating.)


	5. IV: Knight in Spanish Armor

Author's Note: so, here is the next update. Sorry it took so long, but it looks like I'll only be able to update once a month now… sorry for the inconvenience, but thanks to your guys' reviews, I'm actually probably going to finish this story! So please keep it coming and thank you for your comments. I know I don't respond to all of you (it's a time issue) and I'm sorry…

On another note: Thank you, everyone that suggested a rate changing. I am going to change this to T, on account of it being a wee to graphic for the young'ens. Thanks again.

Also: I am going to answer some critiques a few reviews pointed out. (Thank you, to all who did! It's nice to know you are reading and criticizing, but still like it enough to continue on!)

One reviewer mentioned that a phones battery should last at least two days: man, are you lucky? I'm happy if my phone last two HOURS, let alone two DAYS. I suppose you can surmise that JD's phone is at least two years old (how old mine is) and that he didn't charge it the day before (as it says in this chapter) also, the two hours of calling can't have been good for it… ;) they also pointed out that I said "bum" instead of "ass". I know this may sound strange, considering the other swearing in that chapter, but I can't imagine JD saying ass. Other words? Sure, but not ass. JD always says bum or things like that, so I just can't imagine him saying anything else. If I do have him saying it, it is very far in few. :)

Another wonderful reviewer pointed out that JD was a bit OOC with his cursing the last chapter, I agree. This chapter, I tried to tune it down, but I was just trying to imagine how I would react to the situation. Obviously, JD and I are two different animals. ;)

And, to **canyonlands girl**: I'm glad you like my witty one liners. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this chapter. (Shows, cable boxes, cars, certain delicious cheeseburgers and beverages, or anything of the like…) I also don't own Scrubs. What I do own is Ava though! …not that that's much fun. She can't drive me places, be eye candy, or taste delicious…

__

* * *

**-Chapter 4: Knight in Spanish Armor-**

My phone is dead.

Dead.

Of course it's dead. It would be too easy if there just happened to be a SLIVER of battery left. Yeah, that'd be WAY too easy. Because everything has to be TERRIBLE FOR ME!

…This time I know I screamed, my anger and frustration mingled with the pain and damnation this time. How can it have gotten this bad? All the moving I did has caused me to bleed more, and it's so cold, that I have surpassed shivering, and become warm… which definitely isn't a good thing.

I sit and breath heavily, for what I'm sure is a long time, (yet another sign that I'm not okay) contemplating what I should do next. There's nothing I can do. I can't call anyone, and unless I magically stop bleeding profusely, I'm not just gonna stand up and walk away…

Or maybe I am?

That Wendy's can't be far away, I know it's not. Plus, if I remember right, the ravine slopes up, and is right next to the Drive-thru window… maybe they would see me if I made it up there… or maybe they could hear me if I shouted…

That is, if I could even manage to breath, let alone hike up to Wendy's.

I can't. I can't walk, I can't breathe, I can't do anything. I'm a pathetic waste of space, and I should probably die down here. I'm not even a good doctor. I'm girly, and annoying, and my friends don't even like me. Why am I even still alive? Just so I could be tortured a LITTLE more before I die? That's comforting.

I manage to make myself role over, on to my back, and (after a few agonizing minutes) I'm now looking up into the falling snow. I toss my head and look to my left, where I left a huge red imprint of where I was, minutes ago.

_I'm losing too much blood_, I think to myself. I know. But what can I do?

_Move. Walk. Get saved, you idiot._

But I can't. It hurts way too much.

_You know what Dr. Cox would say about this._

He would say I was a girl, and then order me around. Not much different than any other day.

_Exactly, now, listen to Dr. Cox_.

I can't.

_Yes, you can._

Stupid mind. It really doesn't believe that I can't. "Listen to Dr. Cox." Scoff, please. I'd like to see Dr. Cox nose dive off a cliff, and then run a triathlon (which I can't do in NORMAL circumstances.)

But, despite what I was thinking, I found myself pushing up with my good arm (well, _better_ arm), and trying to balance on the left leg.

I'm standing.

I'm _fucking standing._

Awesome.

Now it's time to start moving. My breath is coming in short gasps, and all of my ribs scream for me to stop, but I see it. I _fucking _see it!

No, not the Wendy's, but the lights, I can see the Wendy's lights. Oh god, I need help. I do, so badly. The blood is dripping badly from all of my injuries, and I know I won't last long.

I put all my weight on my left leg, and dare to put some weight on my dislocated/imbedded right one. Pain shoots through my entire right side, but I try to ignore it, and limp quickly back to my left leg.

For a pretty screwed-to-hell guy, I'm movin' along pretty fast, if I do say so myself. I try to pace myself, but I'm not very good at it. All I keep thinking is how close I am to getting out of this stupid hole.

I see the top of the roof, and I practically scream out in joy. (And maybe a few other things) just a little further, I tell myself.

Just a little-

_**

* * *

**_Ava Stout was not a night person. She hated having to work the night shift at her job, because she knew sleep was what kept her from killing most people. Wendy's was not exactly her dream job, and she hated that most of the customers were jerks. _I mean really, you're at a fast food place, not a fancy four star restaurant, you can expect your food to be a little on the weird side._

There were some customers she liked though. One that stood out in her mind was the doctor that was a regular. His name was JD, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't have a little crush on him. It was hard not to, really. First: he was a doctor, second: he's kinda cute (in a dorky way), and third: he's very sweet. Who wouldn't like him?

He usually came every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Today was Tuesday. Why hadn't he come? Maybe he was busy? Went out with his friends?

She doubted it. He had told her how he and his friends weren't exactly getting along these days, (which had of course made her very sympathetic. Maybe he was just aiming for pity sex?) and she didn't think he would be going out with them, if they weren't getting along.

But, she simply let the topic go, traveling to more important things, like the episode of House; M.D. that she had waiting for her at home, on her DVR. After all, he was just a customer, and it wasn't like he was dieing or something.

_**

* * *

**_I came back into consciousness. That's always good sign. I find myself wondering how long I've been out. Considering it's still dark (and still very cold) it could have been a few minutes, or I could have slept through a whole day. Considering how far gone I feel at the moment, the latter doesn't seem too far fetched. 

I tried to orientate myself, tried to remember how I had gotten out of the car, or hell, even WHY.

After a few moments, I still have nothing though. Why did I leave the car? Where was my cell phone? Why couldn't I hear sirens just down the street? …_because I didn't call them. That's why. Because my phone died_, I remember.

Damn me! I knew I should have charged it last night! But that still doesn't answer why I am out and about in this horrible death trap called weather.

But suddenly, I hear sounds. Sounds that sound oddly like a person. Then my memories come flooding back. The Wendy's!

There's someone here!

_**

* * *

**_Ava cursed to herself as she, once again, stumbled on a pothole in the parking lot. 

"Damn! Stupid Arnold Schwarzenegger! I thought he was supposed to be fixing these stupid things…"

She continued her trudge to her 5 year old Nissan Sentra, wondering why she had been determined to park as far as she possibly could from her work place.

"Oh yeah: because stupid Zack stole my parking space, AGAIN. I swear, next time? I'm just keyin' the damn thing, video surveillance be damned-"

She quieted her voice suddenly. What was that? It sounded like a grunt. An animal maybe? Or maybe a zombie?

She shivered at the thought. She was somewhat compulsive about zombies, as strange as that seemed. She agonized over what to do, if there was ever the occurrence of said supernatural beings.

_Why? Why, why, why? The one day I don't bring my baseball bat…_ but she tried to consol herself, to eradicate her irrational fear…

There it was again! Some kind of grunt/moan hybrid. It sounded like it came from the ravine… she walked slowly to the edge of the ravine, past her car.

"I swear to god, if it's some floozy couple going at it, I am SO going to ruin their fun… permanently." She didn't think it wise to walk so close to the edge (because the pretty girls, and the minorities are always the first to go in the movies… and she was both.) but part of her needed to figure out what had made the noise.

Another grunt emanated from a dark area on the ground only a few feet below her. It looked as if it had been trying to climb up the slope…

Then she saw a tuft of unmistakable, unruly black hair.

"Dios Mio… JD!"

If he really did want pity sex, he was taking it a little too far.

_**

* * *

**_"Damn! Stupid Arnold Schwarzenegger!" 

I know that voice. It's so familiar…

"I thought he was supposed to be fixing these stupid things…"

I know that voice… Ava! Ava, the counter girl!

"Oh yeah: because stupid Zack stole my parking space, AGAIN"

_Oh god, she's coming this way! I have to get her attention. _I thought quickly about trying to stand up, but if I was able to do that, I would already have been inside eating a Jr. Cheeseburger Deluxe, with fries, and a Dr. Pepper.

So I did the next best thing:

I grunted.

Okay, moaned is more like it, but "grunted" is much more manly.

_Please, please god, hear me…_

"I swear, next time? I'm just keyin' the damn thing, video surveillance be damned-…"

She heard me. She heard me! Thank you, god!

I few more grunts here and there, and I can finally see her. I want to jump up and down, I want to laugh and hug her, but all I manage to do is lay there and stare.

"Dios Mio… JD!"

And then all goes black.

_**

* * *

**_Yay! Our JD dearest is going to beh saved! And by someone no one would have guessed. (Mostly because no one knew who she was…) :P 

R&R please. :)


	6. V: Days of Our Emergency

Author's Note: Dude… I suck. I'm so sorry! I can't believe it's been three months since I updated! I'm a horrible soul! Tear. Please forgive me! But with high school starting, and other time consuming activities, I had no time! SOOOOO sorry! Wow, you guys sure got lucky with me being dead sick! Lol… I really hope some of you are still reading!

Also: With me trying to get this posted, I didn't have time to read it through, so any mistakes are all mine, and I deserve to be ridiculed and punished for it… Please read on, and enjoy… (Even though it's pretty much a crappy, short, filler chapter… tear. Sorry again)

Disclaimer: Don't own Scrubs…

P.S.: my finger's are cold… :l

**_

* * *

_**

**-Chapter 5: Days of Our Emergency-**

When I woke up, I really didn't know what was happening.

Things were a blur. The pain in all of my body, even, was reduced to a dull throbbing as I tried to regain my bearings.

I could feel hands touching me, feeling the parts of me that were obviously less injured than other parts. I could hear voices. They sounded like someone had stuffed cotton into my ears and then made me sit through a Shakespearian play.

I couldn't understand what was going on. I opened my eyes and saw snow. Falling. Where was I? Was I still outside the Wendy's? But I thought someone had found me…

My confusion was suddenly cleared as someone brushed over the glass in my stomach, causing me to be thrown harshly into painful reality.

I gazed to my right and saw a paramedic. That must have been the bastard that decided to play patty-cake with my glass compadre. I can see his lips are saying something to me, but I can't focus, and with my ears being unable to translate for my brain, I found my eyes drifting elsewhere.

A little passed the paramedic's shoulder I can see Ava the counter-girl standing up the small slope of the ravine talking to a paramedic. She looks like she's crying, and she puts her hand up to her mouth as she looks down to where I am, and for a second I think she might hurl. Then the paramedic pats her shoulder and seems to dismiss her. Then she walks away, and I can't see her anymore. Oh well.

I look back to my right, and the paramedic seems to be saying something that goes over my head. (Literally) I look to my left and find that there is another paramedic, only a few feet away, setting up the emergency gurney.

The third paramedic (the one that was talking to Ava) suddenly appeared by my feet, and seems to ask my buddy on my right something. At the same time, the paramedic to the left lifts my head and slips the neck brace under me. She does it so violently that I can't help the shout of protest that escapes me. (Okay, so it's more like a surprised moan…)

Then, the unintelligible muffles that were the paramedic's talking became bits and pieces of actual sentences. It came in and out, like a radio station in a tunnel.

"Victim's name… Sacred Heart?... freeway… poor sucker… condition?" the third paramedic said. The bits and pieced only seemed to confuse my muddled brain more, and I looked away, as if the words caused me pain. I turned my head to the paramedic on my right, and I could just manage to read the name tag on his uniform, stating him to be "James".

James didn't turn his head to reply to his co-worker, instead he kept his gaze trained on me and the gory sight of my body, "he seems… non-responsive to wor… registers pain… broken… possible dislocation… too much blood."

DUH, I'm responsive to pain. Idiots.

They seem to be talking between themselves, and they speak so fast that my bits and pieces become nothing but white noise. Then James bends his head down close to mine and speaks louder… oh, I think he's talking to me!

I try to concentrate on what he's saying, and not the increase of pain in my arm: "Jonathan? My name is… you've been in… do you…?" he pauses for a minute to see if I'll answer, but they only response I can give is a furrow in my brow as I try to interpret what he said. He seems to deflate a little as he sighs, and continues.

"We're gonna put… gurney… might hurt… the hospital… work?" Great. From what I got, they're going to move me. That's gonna be fantastic.

This time he doesn't pause for my answer (not that it matters, I couldn't answer his partial-question anyways) as he stands from his crouch to say something over to the woman next me. Then all hell breaks loose.

I watch all three of them count to three as James cradles my head, and the other paramedic lifts my feet. The woman grips my left side from over the gurney, and as they reach three, we all take a deep breath, and they lift.

And then I pass out.

_**

* * *

**_I'm pretty sure I'm in the ambulance… things are moving fast, the paramedics are all talking way too quickly, and I'm pretty sure I'm one paper cut away from passing out from the pain again. 

James is saying something to me, and all I can do is say one thing:

"Where's my cell phone?"

Okay, so I'm pretty sure it came out more like "wah sy ellon?" but James, apparently, is fluent in Car Crash Victim.

He smiles a small smile as he says, "Don't worry, sir, we grabbed your phone. You'll be makin' calls to your girlfriend in no time." For a second I think that maybe I should be mad at him for saying something like that when I don't even have a girlfriend, but I decide to try to smile back instead. (After all, he WAS saving my life...)

The paramedic seems a bit surprised that I am responsive, and he yells at the driver to hurry up. Looking back down at me, he says something that seems similar to "everything's going to be okay", but by then, I was long gone.

_**

* * *

**_Ryan Christopher James had met this doctor before, he realized. The goofy black hair and lanky looking body was familiar to the paramedic, as he had crouched down. It had taken him a while to recognize the doctor who was always trailing after Dr. Cox. The last time he'd seen the younger man had been quite a few years ago, it was a wonder Ryan had recognized him at all, without him being attached to the more bitter doctor. But as the young man had smiled at Ryan's attempt at encouragement, he recognized the young man. 

With a new hope, Ryan turned his head to Tiffany in the front and instructed her to "hurry the hell up". He turned back down to the young doctor, only to find that he had fallen back into unconsciousness. Ryan placed his own stethoscope to the boy's chest, only to throw them off a second later in a rush.

"Patient has fallen into respitory distress. Wynters, get over here!" Ryan called for his fellow paramedic.

The older paramedic sighed and moved too slowly (in Ryan's opinion) to his side. Peter Lamont Wynters was NOT Ryan's friend, (as a matter of fact, he was no one's friend) and Ryan, for the life of him, could not understand why he kept getting shifts with him.

As Ryan tried to determine why his doctor patient wasn't breathing, he could hear Tiffany in the front calling in an emergency delivery to Sacred Heart, one of their own.

The thought made Ryan's stomach clench, and he couldn't keep the angry tone out of his voice as he took the defibrillator from Wynters' hands and shouted a 'clear' through the tense air, hoping for a change in the monitor…

_**

* * *

**_Sitting in the doctor's lounge, watching one of his favorite soap opera's, his mind wandered unabatedly to the events of earlier that day. 

Dr. Perry Cox was sure he had never heard anything like come out of his protégé's mouth. Not only the words, but the volume, the tone, and the _pure hatred and frustration_, were things he had never imagined coming out of the girly doctor.

Perry sighed as he shifted on the uncomfortable couch. This was the first five minutes he's had to himself, work free, since he'd started six hours ago. He wasn't about to waste it thinking about that woman's hissy-fit.

"What do you mean, Doctor? You mean… you mean…?" the large-breasted, small-brained, blonde on the screen asked dramatically.

"Yes, Heather," the doctor replied, possibly even more dramatically, "you're… you're husbands dead. He's been in a car accident… I'm so sorry." The woman broke down, bawling stupidly in the doctor's coat, as he patted her back.

Perry scoffed, thinking many sarcastic things about _that_ particular scene, when a nurse burst in to the doctor's lounge.

"Dr. Cox!" she shouted. Perry pushed himself up from the couch, a glare in place that was more curious than murderous.

"What?" he stated simply.

"There's been an accident, sir," she panted, as if she had run all the way to the lounge. Dr. Cox barely refrained from groaning. He had just got a brake and now there was probably some kind of eighty-car pile-up. He readied himself to hear the bad news, when she said something he was not prepared for:

"It's Dr. Dorian…"

_**

* * *

**_R&R please:( I'm sorry! Tear… 

P.S.: LAST SEASON PREMIERE: OCTOBER 25!!!! NOOOOOO!! Scrubs… I love you so…


	7. VI: The Things Percival Cox Doesn't Do

Author's Note: Hello my friends! I'm so happy I updated sooner than I did the last time! (I actually started working on this chapter the same day I uploaded that one…)

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I'm so happy that you guys actually stayed with my story even though I was so cruel to you! (And then I even left you with that bitch of a cliff hanger… :P) so thank you again! I'm SO happy! 77 reviews! And they are all awesome! (I have to say, most of the one's from the last chapter had me cracking up!) Thank you again!

In this chapter there's actually a lot of 3rd person Dr. Cox POV, and I'm pretty nervous about how he came out, not sure I actually captured the awesomeness of him… (he's so scary to write!) So give me some feedback on what you think of him, please.

Alright, let's get this party started, shall we? Read on and enjoy, please!

Disclaimer: Don't own, just using it for my own sick pleasure...

* * *

**-Chapter 6: The Things Percival Cox Doesn't Do-**

As Perry runs down the hall, everything for him is a blur. It's as if the situation was making his entire life undistinguishable. The bright, florescent lights from above ran together with the reflection on the tile floor, mixing badly. Nothing was making sense for him. The last thing he had understood was the strained "Dr. Dorian" coming from the nurses lips. After that, well…

It all went to hell.

Sometime while he was running, he had forgotten where he was even going, too mixed and muddled in his own worries. His mind screamed at him to run faster, to run to the emergency bay.

To save Newbie.

When he had finally reached the ambulance entrance, he could hear the sirens still too far to see. He stared unblinkingly at the entrance to the hospital, and watched as the ambulance drove erratically into the empty space before the ramp.

Perry had to forcefully move his legs, willing them to move forward. As the large swinging doors pounded open, and two male paramedics wheeled Dr. John Dorian out, one pounding on his chest the other steering the gurney, Dr. Cox no longer needed to tell himself anything, he let his instinct take over. (it had never led him astray before)

"Status?" he asked curtly as he arrived at the gurney's side and took over chest compressions.

The young paramedic that had been resuscitating the girly doctor sounded winded when he replied, "A compound fracture in the arm, dislocated leg, possible concussion, and we think one of his ribs might have punctured a lung. He went into respitory distress, and he crashed twice on the way over here."

They continued to move towards the ER while the paramedic listed the injuries that had been inflected upon his usually (and annoyingly) chipper protégé. Perry could feel a small lump forming in the back of his throat, and wasn't sure whether he felt like crying or like throwing up. (He was pretty sure it was that last one. Percival Cox does NOT cry)

"What happened to him?" whether or not the two men had heard his voice crack meant nothing to the Irish doctor. All that mattered was making sure this little prick lived. Out of the corner of his eye, Dr. Cox thought he saw the younger paramedic (what was his name? Jaime? Joey?) give him a sympathetic look, but he chose to ignore it. What good would sympathy do?

"He was in a car accident. Run off the freeway into a ditch." By this time, they had gotten the young doctor's heart to start, and were wheeling him into the Emergency Room, as the younger paramedic compressed air into his lungs.

Several nurses swarmed around the gurney, and Perry himself, forcing the two paramedics away from the gurney, and out of the problem.

As Perry glanced over his shoulder, he watched as the two men walked away, wishing this case was just like any other.

But then, wishes wouldn't make Newbie better, so, he turns around and thinks no more of anything else but helping his patient.

_**

* * *

**_It's a strange sensation, coming back from dying. Things are black, and nothing really registers, not time, not people, nothing. It's like being asleep. Then, I start to hear things, bits of conversation, until I can understand all of it. Nothing is coming into sight yet, but from the feeling of movement under me, and the wind rushing past me, it's a safe bet I'm on a gurney, and I'm glad I haven't opened my eyes. I always get motion sick easily, and I'm already nauseas. 

I try listening to what's being said around me, anything to get my mind off the pain. I can hear voices, one I recognize as the paramedic James, and the other is familiar, yet I'm unable to place it. It's like a fart in a crammed elevator; you know it came from someone, but you just don't know who.

The words are starting to make sense now, and I concentrate harder, to catch myself up on the conversation.

"A compound fracture, in the arm, dislocated leg, possible concussion, and we think one of his ribs might have punctured a lung. He went into respitory distress, and he crashed twice on the way over here."

Huh. So I've been dead twice huh? Well, that's nice to know. And where exactly is "here"?

There's a sort of pause in the talking, and I think for a minute that I might have missed something, when that familiar voice from before speaks again, and suddenly I hear that unmistakable voice.

"What happened to him?"

The voice is so comforting somehow, that I can barely contain my joy. (Well, actually I did a pretty good job since I had no physical reaction what-so-ever.) I couldn't have been happier if he had whistled, called me a girl's name, and ordered me to "cut my beauty sleep short because we have work to do, even though I terri-ha-hi-bly needed it, and I don't get paid to sleep, so GO! GO! GO!"… and I'm pretty sure I would have jumped up and start my rounds if he had…

It was Dr. Cox.

But, somehow, his voice sounds different. It wavers, and almost sounds like it cracked.

I sincerely hope he's sick.

Why would he be crying? It couldn't be because of me could it? Do I look that bad? Or maybe I interrupted his favorite soap, and he's crying because he's gonna miss the season finale?

That must be it. I mean, after all, "why would he care if I wasn't there?" right?

God, I wish I hadn't thought that, that way I could stop repeating it to myself.

James' reply, luckily, cuts off any come-back my brain was thinking of.

"He was in a car accident. Run off the freeway into a ditch"

"A ditch"? Huh, and all this time I'd been calling it a ravine. That sounds much nicer. Much more dignified. I mean, which sounds cooler "I drove into a ditch," or "I was run off the road into a ravine"? One's definitely gonna get me more booty.

If I, you know, live.

Dr. Cox doesn't reply, and I'm not sure which scares me more: the cracking/crying voice or the silence.

When hands suddenly start touching me, and unfamiliar voices start shouting orders, I'm pretty sure it's the silence that scares me.

And then I'm out of it again.

_**

* * *

**_"BP's dropping!" 

"Heart rate's slowing"

"He's crashing!"

A flurry of nurses surrounding the bed scramble to do things Perry Cox hadn't even been able to say yet. Taking the defibrillators that had been shoved into his hands, he numbly ordered a charge, shouted out a resounding "clear", and stuck the metal plates to the doctors chest. Everyone in the small room fell silent and stared at the monitor, waiting for a change. Dr. Cox kept his gaze trained on Newbie, watching. He charged again and shocked the pathetically skinny (and spoon shaped?) chest, causing it to arch upwards and fall back down in an unnatural way.

Perry starred down still, as if the situation was nothing more than a dream.

Still, nothing.

For a minute Perry thinks he might drop the small paddles in his hands. They shook so bad, he didn't trust himself to touch the young man in front of him. His eyes sting, and he's about to put the paddles down and go on a rampage when he hears a choked sob come from the back of the mob of nurses.

He glances up, and with red-rimmed, stinging eyes, he spots Carla in a similar situation. Her eyes are leaking tears, and her hands are at her mouth, and for a minute Dr. Cox doesn't know why she's there. Then he remembers that she had to cover an extra shift. (Nurse Simmons was learning to tango for her wedding. One Newbie was helping to plan.)

Perry starred at the broken looking woman a minute more before he turned to the defibrillator and turned the charge up, then turned, and with one silent threat to god, and put the paddles to JD's chest, and watched as it arched upwards once more.

His gaze swung from the too-frail-looking boy in front of him to the heart monitor connected to him, watching, waiting, _hoping_…

Finally, a mechanical beep sounds throughout the room, and it's as if it knocks the air out of all the people there. The breath they had all been holding releases and with it, their senses come back. Perry puts the paddles on the cart as he shouts orders to the nurses, ordering an emergency OR room. Perry was sure Dr. Wen was on call tonight, and was grateful for that bit of mercy. Dr. Wen was one of the only surgeons Perry actually trusted. (With the exception of Gandhi, to which he would never verbally admit) They needed JD in surgery an hour ago. The hole in his lung wasn't getting any smaller…

Perry wheeled the gurney holding his protégé down the hall, towards the surgery wing. His mind felt as if there was cotton shoved into it, making everything slow and mucky, he couldn't concentrate on anything besides getting Newbie to that surgery; on anything but saving him.

Perry hadn't noticed Carla walking closely behind him as they went down the hall, even when they finally got to the room, seeing Dr Wen already scrubbed up, and standing in the OR. If the surgeon had said anything, Perry didn't notice. He was too busy watching as the OR nurses took the gurney from him and wheeled him into the room.

Suddenly, the door to the room closed, and it was as if he awoke from a dream. He lifted his gaze slightly, and gazed at what was happening inside through the window of the door. He watched as one nurse put a small mask on the young doctor's face. Anesthesia.

When Dr. Wen pulled up a scalpel, Perry was sure he was going to throw up this time. He turned from the surgery, and was going to make a run for it, when he saw Carla still standing behind him.

She wasn't looking at him, he noticed, but rather, past him, and over his shoulder. He watched as more tears poured out of her eyes. She looked like the world was ending; he felt like it.

He wondered fleetingly what was going through her mind, then figured that there probably wasn't that much. She was probably too focused on what was actually happening to be thinking about it. She was probably like him.

"We should tell Turk and Elliot."

The comment was so sudden and unexpected, that even though it was spoken softly, it almost had Perry jumping out of his skin. (Only not, because Percival Cox did NOT get scared. Except for maybe when one of his doctors was in danger of dying, and except that, well yeah, he totally was)

He gazed at Carla for a minute longer, gauging what she was thinking, in silence. Then he answered with a curt "yeah", and walked away.

He wasn't sure how he did it. Walked away, that is. His chest hurt more and more the further he walked from the room, and for a minute he thought that maybe his heart was breaking or something. (Only not, because Percival Cox does NOT have a heart.)

He was almost half way down the hall when he was stopped by Carla calling his name.

"Dr. Cox," her voice trembled.

He stopped walking, but didn't reply; didn't look at her.

"He's going to be okay right?" her tone was frazzled, maybe even desperate. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that all would be well, but he couldn't. It was as if his throat was swelled shut. The lies that usually came easily to his cruel tongue hung dry on his lips, and he couldn't even say a word.

It was silent for a full minute before Carla broke the pause with a choked sob. Perry could feel her eyes on him now, and wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Except maybe there was something he wanted more, and he was hoping that Dr. Wen was helping with that right now. (Only not, because Percival Cox does NOT hope.)

"Oh god," she choked out, "He's going to die."

It was as if that one statement brought him back to realize where he was, what was going on, and who he was talking to. He wasn't allowed to let Carla hurt like this; he was her friend. (Only not, because Percival Cox does NOT have friends.)

"No, he's not!" he shouted. And suddenly his lies and bluffs and deceptions came back to him, and he turned to look at the broken woman.

"He's not going to die. He's going to be fine. Dr. Wen's going to fix him, and then he's going to wake his ass up, apologize to you for the trouble, make some stupid joke, and get back to work. He is not going to die!" Carla spluttered a laugh through her tears, and the small token of gratitude shinning in her eyes made Perry's voice soften.

"He's not."

Except that, a lot of things that were not happening were starting to happen…

_**

* * *

**_Oh no's! Poor JD! What ever will happen to him?! ;) 

And yes, in the next chapter there will hopefully be some Turk and Elliot… if I can get it to work that way… lol.

Anywho, R&R please:D


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